The white cloak
by ForFlamesInFlames
Summary: This is a re-post of my original story, its been given a much needed make-over. Thank you MaryAnne. Anyhow, this story is for all of you who's wishing that Sandor would hurry and rescue his little bird already.
1. Part one

This is a re-post of my original story since I finally got a beta-reader. For those of you that have already read this fanfiction up till par seven I recommend you to read it from start to finish once more, my beta has done a marvellously good job and the flow of the story is much better now. Thank you so much MaryAnne, this fanfiction wouldn't be as good without your help. **  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Part one<strong>

Alayne was her armour, her shield and sword. She wielded her when she felt threatened and hid behind her when she thought sorrow would overcome her. Alayne had no dark past or bloody secrets. She hadn't betrayed her family or seen her father s head on a spike. Behind Alayne's eyes Sansa felt safe to gaze upon the world and meet other people s smiles with smiles of her own. Alayne had always known that her lord father, Petyr Baelish, was a liar. Alayne accepted whatever fate befell her but it wasn't Alayne that would be married to Harry the Heir. It was Sansa and Sansa wasn't ready to emerge yet. Perhaps she would never be. She would be naked without her armour and defenseless without her sword.

She bit her lip and gazed through the window. The Gates of the Moon were shrouded in white, heavy snow. Not the kind Sansa grew up with - in the north the snow was as light as feathers and it would dance in the wind, hauntingly beautiful and cold as death. The night was swiftly approaching, and a few stars had come out The moon was nearly full. It would be a clear, cold night. Sansa shivered and wrapped her large fur tighter around her shoulders. She should go to bed but for all Alayne's uses she couldn't protect Sansa from her nightmares and this felt like a night when her demons would come for her.

They were a different kind almost every night. Sometimes she was back at King's Landing, a girl of twelve who watched as her lord father's legs would twitch as his head fell in a pool of blood. Sometimes she would be there when they beheaded her brother and stitched Grey Wind's head to his shoulders. In her dreams they would look at her with their dead eyes and blame her for their deaths.

'_You betrayed us_', they would say with voices as cold as ice.

Sometimes she dreamt that the Imp forced her to consummate their wedding. His thick fingers would group her chest and he would force his way through her maidenhead. Sansa felt how she coloured and was glad that she was alone. Tyrion hadn't been cruel towards her and she felt ashamed that she had left him for the wolves when she fled King's Landing. Rumour had it he had escaped and for that she was glad but she feared that he would show up one day and demand what was his by law.

She sighed. Tomorrow would be a tiring day. Lord Robert had taken a turn for the worse and when he wasn't sleeping he usually cried, demanding that they returned to the Eyrie. Most of the time she was left alone in charge of him since her songs and her stories seemed to calm him somewhat. He was such a weak child and it felt like every breath he took could be the last. It was unsettling how everything always seemed to go the way her lord father wanted it to. Littlefinger scared her. In the beginning he had seemed perfectly charming, she had believed that he was the only one in the world who could save her. Sometimes he had her convinced that he genuinely cared for her, loved her even but recently she had noticed how his facade would slip whenever he kissed her. He wanted her and in a way that a father never should want his daughter. His eyes undressed her until she stood naked before him and once she thought she had felt his tongue brush against her lips when he kissed her. She had come to realize that he might be the most dangerous person she had ever met. Cersei was like a cruel child in comparison to him and Joffrey nothing more then a mad dog.

_Dog..._

Sansa drew a shuddering breath. She hadn't thought about the Hound for a long time. She had feared him once for his scared face, rude manners and harsh words. Still. He was the only one who had told her the truth.

'They re all liars here... and every one better than you.'  
>She could still remember the way his voice sounded like metal scraping against stone when he spoke and the way his harsh laughter sounded like snarling dogs in a pit. She glanced at the fire on her bedside table. He had been so frightened when she last saw him. He had frightened her too with the knife at her throat and the sour stench of wine on his breath. He had shoved her down on the bed and for a moment she had thought that he'd meant to rape her or worse but he'd only stolen a song...<p>

And a kiss...

Sansa licked her lips. Her first kiss. He had stolen it and then left her. She had often wondered how things would have turned out if she had gone with him. He had promised to keep her safe but back then she had been much too frightened to believe him. She would believe him now. If he came for her she would even sing Florian and Jonquil for him and he wouldn't even have to put the knife to her throat. She entertained the thought that she might kiss him if he came for her. Perhaps she would give her maidenhead to him as well and see all of her father's plans crumble and turn to dust. The Hound might even kill Littlefinger for her if she told him how he had kissed her and touched her improperly. Sansa flushed deep crimson at the thoughts she'd been entertaining. It wasn't ladylike to think about such things and they certainly shouldn't happen out of wedlock. That thought brought her back to Tyrion and then to Harry the Heir. She bit her lip and felt how utterly powerless she was. They could do with her as they pleased and she could only pretend and smile. It made her want to rage and scream but that would probably give her father an excuse to seek her out and the gods only knew what he would do if he found her like this, dressed in only her nightclothes.

The hour was late now, the moon bright. She moved towards the bed but thought better of it and made for the carved chest at the foot of her bed. She opened the heavy, painted lid and took out all of her dresses and capes to find a large, tattered and stained cloak on the bottom. She put all of her dresses back in chest and took the cloak with her to bed. It still smelled like smoke, death and blood but she didn't care about that. It made her feel safe. Perhaps her demons wouldn't come for her tonight if she held the cloak close enough to her chest.

She wondered if he was out there somewhere still or if he too had died. She kissed the rough fabric that once had been white.

"Please be alive", she whispered.

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><p>The monk arrived to the Gates of the Moon when the winter nights had grown long and cold, three full moons since the snow had first fallen. He wore a grey tunic tied around the waist with a leather belt, a grey scapula and a cowl that shrouded his face. He rode a black, mean looking horse and had a mule in tow. The guards opened the gate for him and Sansa gave him a curious look as she passed by a window. He was huge for a monk and looked more like a warrior then a pacifistic brother. She thought there was something familiar about the way he held himself but then he started walking and she noticed that he was moving with a slight limp. Sansa shook her head. She must have been imagining things.<p>

"M'lady Alayne!"

She turned around and came eye to eye with a flustered maidservant. The poor girl looked like she had been running around half the castle. "Is something the matter?" asked Sansa.

"It's lord Robert m'lady" said the girl while she gasped for air. "He's hysterical and wants you to come sing for him. I've tried to sing for him myself, m'lady, but he wants you."

Sansa watched as the monk disappeared into the stables with his horse and mule. She sighed and gave the girl a reassuring smile.

"I'll come with you. He's usually very distressed at this time of the day. He'll be calmer when they give him the milk of the poppy and it's time for him to sleep."

"Won't his Lordship miss the feast tonight if he's given the milk of the poppy?"

"Lord Robert isn't strong enough to attend the feast anyway. It would be better if he could rest instead. He didn't sleep well at all last night I'm afraid." she said and felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she remembered how her father had arched an eyebrow and told her that it was only a matter of time before little Robert Arryn would be dead.

The young lord's door was open when Sansa and the maidservant came to his chambers. Robert was seated in his bed, looking very small and frail amidst all the thick furs and covers. He had always looked sick but Sansa despaired every time she laid eyes on him nowadays. His skin was the same colour as curdled milk, his eyes huge and feverish. His lip trembled when he laid eyes on her and Sansa thought he might have a shaking fit but to her relief he only cried.

"What is it sweetrobin?"

"Where were you?" he sobbed. "I wanted you to be here but you weren't and that awful girl tried to sing to me. I don't like her!"He hiccuped and pointed accusingly at the maidservant who had turned two shades whiter. "I want to make her fly."

"Please sweetrobin, you're scaring the poor girl. I'm here now. What do you wish of me?" Sansa turned to the maid with a reassuring smile. "You can go now. Please tell my father that I'll join him for the feast when I've put Lord Robert to sleep."

"Thank you m'lady" said the maid weakly. "Do you want me to fetch the maester?"

"Yes, do that."

The maid hurried through the door and left Sansa alone with her crying cousin. She tried to not feel to irritated with him. He couldn't help himself and if Littlefinger's prediction were true, then he wouldn't live for much longer anyway.

"Sing for me Alayne" asked Robert and Sansa sang.

_Oh my little bird what have you done?_  
><em>Fell in love with Mr. Setting Sun<em>  
><em>So beautiful you made the sky your own <em>  
><em>Then it disappeared left you alone<em>

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><p>The song in the end belongs to Lisa Miskovsky, it's called "Little Bird" - I thought it was quite fitting.<p> 


	2. Part two

**Part two**

He shouldn't be here in this place. The cretin to his right was yapping something about the weather, wolves and what-not. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone but he had been lured to the feast by the smell of roasted boar and mawmeny. It had been several days since he'd had a decent meal and the opportunity to eat for free had seemed too good to pass up. He grunted something to the half-wit said and gave the man a critical once-over. He was a hedge knight of some sort, perhaps thirty years old with an ugly mop of brown hair, a round face and pouting, fat lips.

"This mawmeny is luscious don't you think?"

'_Piss on you and your mawmeny_', he thought but gave an assenting nod instead.

"Lord Royce wants to impress the lord protector of the Vale no doubt. The hedge knight grabbed a tankard of ale from a passing serving wench and gave her a pat on the rear. "I've heard that it was Littlefinger who raised him to Lordship."

'_Fucking Littlefinger, he seem to be everywhere these days..._'

"Look, here he comes."

He gave the lord protector of the Vale a fleeting glance and noted that the sly bastard looked much too healthy with slightly round cheeks and twinkling eyes. He was dressed in rich colours and had his greying hair swept back.

"Who'd have thought that a man like him would be so important?" said the hedge knight between chews, a mixture of saliva and chicken landing on the table.

'_Every man with a pair of eyes in his head_', he thought. '_That one is much too clever for his own good... and much too dangerous._'

"The tale has it that he's brought his natural daughter with him." the hedge knight rambled on. "A fair thing they say, a young maid with brown hair and blue eyes. I've never seen her myself but a bard I know said she was the stuff of legends and songs."

'_Why in the seven hells would I care about some air-headed bastard?_' he wanted to rage but held his tongue.

The serving wench passed by them again with flagon of wine on her tray. "Would you like some wine brother?" she asked and offered him the flagon with a smile.

His mouth went dry. It had been a while since he had been offered wine, nearly two years. "No thank you." he rasped and shook his head. The serving wench smiled again and went on her way. By chance he glanced toward the door at the far-end of the hall as it opened. A tall and graceful woman entered the hall. She wore a blue grey dress that was much too nice for a servant but not nearly as elaborate as the high-born ladies wore with their pearls and gemstones. His breath caught in his throat. He knew her; the high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes. How could he not? She haunted his dreams, plagued his memories. He would recognize Sansa Stark anywhere. She could don a peasant's rags, smear mud all over her porcelain skin and still look like a lady. Suddenly he wished that he had that flagon of wine that the wench had offered him to wash down the excitement he felt.

'_She looks like a woman now_', he thought. The child had developed curves and high, firm teats. She had been a beautiful child and now she was a breathtaking young woman.

"That must be Alayne Stone, the lord protector's daughter", said the hedge knight who must have noticed the intensity of his stare. "The bard wasn't wrong, there is no man alive who wouldn't want to screw that piece of ass."

He almost throttled the cretin - hang the consequences - but he restrained himself and grabbed hold of the half-wit's collar instead. "Watch your tongue." he growled.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry brother." The hedge knight tried to wriggle free from the grip but to no avail. "I didn't mean any offence."

"Be glad that lord Baelish didn't hear you. Imagine what he would do." he rasped. "But one couldn't be too sure, Littlefinger could have many ears and just as many daggers if needed be."

The cretin turned as white as a sheet and closed his mouth firmly. Finally there was some peace and quiet. He turned his gaze to her again where she was seated at Littlefinger's side. It had never been this tantalizing to watch anyone eat before. Some gravy trailed down her bottom lip and when she swept it away with her tongue he almost came undone.

'_Little bird_', he thought. '_This time I will not ask. You will come with me._'

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><p>She ate the mawmeny and replied to her father's questions and idle talk like the good daughter that she was but she couldn't help feeling detached. Her thoughts were with little Robert, finally sleeping. It was with sorrow in her chest when she realized that he might not live through the week. What would happen then? Would her father wait until spring to wed her to Harry the Heir or would she stand before the septon only days after Robert's funeral? She glanced at her father, all smiles and jolly chatter. He was such a changeable character, so unreliable. She stiffened when his hand brushed her thighs. He did not seem to have noticed but the touch sent shivers of revulsion down her spine. He did nothing unintended. Sansa sat rigid and stared out in the empty air, the mawmeny on her plate forgotten. She licked her lips and thought about excusing herself and going to bed but her father wouldn't like that. Sansa glanced down toward the tables where the lesser lords and the knights were seated and found herself transfixed by the monk she had seen earlier that day. He was seated beside an ugly hedge knight who seemed very busy with his food. Sansa couldn't see past the shadow of the brother's cowl but it felt like he had her pinned with his gaze. Her mouth went dry and she had to take a sip of wine, a blush crept over her cheeks and she cast her eyes down to her plate. It wasn't unusual for men to stare at her, she had become accustomed to it but the brother's gaze was so heavy that she thought she might get trouble breathing if he didn't stop.<p>

"Is something the matter sweetling?" Petyr put a hand on her forehead. "Are you coming down with a fever?"

"No Father, I'm only feeling a bit faint."

Her father tsked and caressed her cheek. "You don't have to stay through the whole feast. Go to your room and I will call on you later on to see if everything is all right."  
>"It's nothing to worry about father, I'm-"<p>

"Alayne, sweetling, I don't want you to get sick." her father said and she could hear the underlying warning. "Now, be a good girl and go to your room."

"Yes Father."

She rose and excused herself. Her father and the brother both followed her departure through the room and she could feel their gazes on her back. She closed the door and leaned against the cold stone wall outside the hall. Her chest felt tight with fear as she climbed the stairs up to her room. She didn't want to be there when her father called on her. She went to the window and stared out in the darkness. There was no moon this night and no stars. Instead the sky was dark and heavy with the promise of snow. She wanted nothing better then to run away but knew that is was impossible. She wouldn't last a single day in the road with bandits and wild beasts all around. She could barely ride and forget hunting.

"I'm just a pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught me to recite." she whispered, remembering how the Hound had growled them to her in that mocking tone of his. "He always spoke the truth."

'_Arya wouldn't let them keep her prisoner_', she thought. '_She would've run away long ago_.'

None of her siblings would suffer through what she did now. They would have run away or killed their captors. She watched as one lone snowflake slowly fell by the window. Soon it was joined by several more. Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying. She went over to the bed and sat down, waiting for her father to appear.


	3. Part three

Rated R because of MAJOR Littlefinger creep-action.

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><p><strong>Par three<strong>

She had almost fallen asleep when Petyr Baelish swept through the door. He carried a bowl of cherries and smiled his most charming smile. The most dangerous smile of them all. "Were you sleeping sweetling?" He closed the door and leaned against it.

"No Father" Sansa stood and straightened. She was almost as tall as her father. It was funny how people sometimes told her how they looked alike when there was nothing apart from their hair that was similar. His grey-green eyes looked nothing like hers and even though some would call him handsome and stylish he still lacked her high cheekbones and natural grace.

'_Then again, he really isn't my father..._'

"You look troubled my sweet Alayne" Her father cocked his head and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Look what I brought for you. Fresh cherries, the very last ones. Who knows when we will be able to enjoy cherries again?"

"Thank you Father", she lowered her gaze and clasped her hands in front of he, ever the supplicant.

"What kind of 'thank you' is that supposed to be Alayne?" His voice was still soft, but something had subtly shifted in it and Sansa was suddenly afraid. "Come over here and thank me properly."

Sansa bit her lip and went to him. He pulled her close with his free hand and kissed her for a long time before releasing her. "Such an obedient girl He purred and caressed her cheek. "Open your mouth, my sweet."

She stared at him in dull shock. His eyes twinkled and she could see the lust burning in them. He took a cherry from the bowl and traced it along the bottom of her lip ,leaving a trail of sweetness. Sans heard his breath catch, quicken. "Open up sweetling, I want you to taste what I've brought for you." She opened her mouth and he slowly pressed the red berry through her lips. Some of the fruit syrup trickled down from the corner of her mouth hanging like a small ruby from her chin.

"So beautiful." He purred and leaned forward, kissing her throat all the way up to the drop of cherry juice. He traced a wet trail with his tongue from her chin to the corner of her mouth and let the bowl fall to the floor. It shattered against the hard stone, scattering cherries across the cold floor. He caught her face between his hands and kissed her again, hard this time. His tongue found its way through her lips and brushed against her firmly clenched teeth. She put her hands on his chest and tried to push him away but he kept a firm hold of her.

"I don't want to", she tried to mumble but he ignored her.

His hands tightened on her waist, roughly pushing her against the wall. He pressed himself against her and she could feel his desire for her against her belly. Finally his lips left hers and he pulled away a fraction to study her. His gaze was glazed with lust, his breathing ragged.

"Please, you're scaring me, Father." she begged. "We shouldn't do this."

"Sweet, sweet Alayne." he panted. "Go down on your knees sweetling, I want to show you something."

"I don't want to."

"Do as you are bid. He said firmly. He dropped his hand heavily onto her shoulder.

"No."

She tried to get past him but he held her steadily. "Don't make me angry, Alayne.

"Please Father", she pleaded and felt hot tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. "You re scaring me, don't do this."

He drew back and the look in her eyes reminded her of two empty wells. "Who was it that helped you flee from King's landing sweetling?"

"You, she sobbed.

"Who keeps you clothed and well fed?"

"You."

"Is there anyone out there who cares more about you than I do?" he asked and his eyes softened. He almost looked sad. "Dear, sweet Alayne, you must be confused and tired to defy me like this."

"Please..."

"I'm not going to hurt you sweetling. I'm just going to show you something useful. Something you can remember when you marry Harrold Hardying." He smiled gently and brushed back a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Go down on you knees, sweetling, and thank me properly for everything I've done for you."

The tears welled forward but she did as she was told and got down to her knees. Littlefinger stroked her hair and for a while she wondered if that was all he was going to do. "I used to dream that I could have done this to your mother", he murmured. "You are more beautiful then she were though. It hurt badly when she refused me." He twined her hair between his finger and got a steady hold. "I wonder if she ever did this for your father." He pulled at her hair and she cried louder.

"You're my father," she sobbed, hoping against hope that she could shame him into leaving her alone.

He smiled and forced her to look him in the face. "Yes, I'm Alayne's father. But you're not Alayne right now are you? You haven't been for several days."

With his free hand he undid his belt and his breeches. His manhood sprang free, proud and hard. Sansa's eyes went wide with fear. "B-but I'm a maiden. D-don't I have to-to be that if I'm going to m-mary Harry the Heir?"

"Sweet innocent Sansa. he breathed. "You will remain a maiden, I promise. There are several ways to do this. Now, open up that sweet mouth of yours."

"I-I don't want to." she stuttered.

He yanked at her hair and she clenched her teeth against the scream in her throat. "Open. Your. Mouth. Or I'm sending you back to King's Landing." Hesitantly she parted her lips. He shoved himself inside and she felt a salt tang against her tongue. He thrust himself deep down in her throat, making her stomach heave. "That's a good girl." He sighed. "Don't even entertain the thought of biting me, or you'll regret it most sincerely." He used the hold he had on her hair and his hips to set a steady pace, she had to gasp for breath whenever she could. He didn't seem to care that he was suffocating her. After what felt like an eternity he gave a shuddering sigh and spent himself in her mouth. Some of his seed trickled down her chin and dripped to the floor.

"Such a good girl. He said and stroked her hair gently. "I will send hot water for you so that you can clean this mess that you've made."

She bit her lip and couldn't keep the tears away any more. He left her without another word on the floor with cherries and pieces of the shattered bowl all around. The maid came as promised, cleaned the room and helped her get ready for bed. Sansa let the girl bathe her and dress her in a nightdress. When she left Sansa it must have been past midnight.

Sansa went to the chest and opened it. The cloak was easier to find this time. She took it with her to the window and sat down on the stone floor with the stained fabric around her shoulders and sobbed. It reminded her of another night when wildfire raged in the horizon and the terrible cries of battle rang loudly in King's Landing. Another night when she had been frightened and lonely with the stained cloak as her only company.

"Please", she whispered. "Please, please, someone, anyone, take me away from here."

The door gave a squeak and she turned toward it, fearing it might be Littlefinger again. It wasn't. It was the huge brother from the feast. He held a sword in his hand and she realized that he might have come to kill her. Oddly enough she welcomed the thought. To die by a sword was an honourable death.

The brother lifted his cowl and Sansa could do nothing but stare.


	4. Part four

**Part 4**

It was past midnight. Sandor cursed under his breath as he made his way up the stairs in the north tower. '_Damn her_' he thought. '_Of course she had to have her room in a tower_.' He would have laughed if it weren't for the risk of discovery. It had been difficult enough to convince the servant-boy in the hall to cave and tell him where the lord protector's daughter had her bedchamber. It wouldn't do for him to walk into one of Littlefinger's guard as they would know that he didn't belong in these parts of the castle. "A tower." he muttered. "She probably fancies herself a princess, awaiting her knight in shining armour by the window, prepared to throw down her hair for him to climb up."

'_A damn fine knight I'll make._' he thought grimly. '_She'll be far more likely to throw herself from the tower then her hair when she sees me._' For a moment he hesitated. Perhaps he'd better leave her alone. It would be the merciful thing to do. This way she might be wed to a knight or a lord, even, and live a peaceful life. If he came into her life and stole her away she would have to live a wretched life, just like him. He couldn't give her a castle or even a safe place to call home. She would go hungry some days and freeze others. He could give her neither gems, fancy dresses nor pearls to wear around her slender neck. All he could offer her was her freedom,if she even wanted it still. Littlefinger seemed to have taken good care of her and she was an adult now, not a frightened child. But still...

'_Seven hells, I have committed so many sins, what's one more if it can get her out of my head?_' he thought. A quieter, darker voice answered in the far reaches of his mind. '_...or into my bed..._'

Sandor continued forward. The sword in his hand wasn't his. He had stolen it from a drunk knight in the hall earlier, thinking he might need it later on if things went badly. It felt strange in his hand, too light and too dull. Not for the first time, he regretted leaving his own blade in the stable, wrapped in blankets and hidden away. He reached the designated floor and stopped outside the door he thought was Sansa s. He put a hand on the door handle and wondered briefly if it would be locked and if she would open it if he knocked.

'_Otherwise I will have to break it down_', he thought with dark humour. '_That will be a fine way to convince her to come with me._'

He clenched his teeth. If she screamed and raged he could probably handle it but if she started crying he wasn't too sure. '_Damn women and their tears_'. He steeled himself. This time he would not be moved by her fear as he had been last time. This time he would drag her with him kicking and screaming if needed be. '_She's mine_', he thought. '_She's got no family to claim her anymore and Littlefinger have no more right to her then I do, neither does that Imp-bastard._' The thought of Tyrion Lannister made him angry. He should be gelded and then burned.

"They say I'm half a man", he had said during the Blackwater battle. "What does that make the lot of you?"

'_You've never been burned, dwarf._' The thought that the bloody little Imp probably had put his bloody little prick in Sansa was something Sandor didn't want to think about. '_If I ever see him again I'll kill him._'

"Damn me", he cursed when he realized that he had wasted enough time standing outside her door.

He pushed down the door handle and prepared for screams, rage or worse but nothing could have prepared him for the scene before him. At first he thought the room was empty. The hour was so late that he almost expected Sansa to be abed but instead she sat by the window curled up under a white cloak. Or what once had been a white cloak. Burned and dirty as it was he could hardly tell.

Could it be...?

He remembered leaving his kingsguard cloak with her. Never in his life had he expected her to keep it. To wear it. But before he knew what his response ought to be she turned her gaze upon him. Her haunted eyes and tear streaked cheeks hit him like a warhammer to the chest. She had been crying. All of a sudden he didn't know what to do, he had expected her to cry bloody murder when he opened the door, not... this... Hesitantly he pushed back the cowl and braced himself, prepared to silence her if necessary. She stared at him with an expression so mixed up by different emotions that it was impossible for him to tell what she might do, by the look of it she was just as likely to burst into tears as to faint on the spot.

She did the former.

"You!" She said in a voice that made it sound like an accusation.

'_Well, I didn't expect her to fall into my arms and declare her undying love for me_.' He thought bitterly as she got to her feet. At least she hadn't screamed.

He pushed the door shut with one foot and by then she had crossed the room and stood before him. She was tall for a woman but he was taller still and she barely reached up to his shoulders. Her eyes were tender and red from crying. For what felt like an eternity they stood facing each other, neither of them speaking. He wanted her to make the first move but at the same time he wanted to ask her why she was crying.

He was unprepared when she slapped him. Her delicate hand connected with the un-burnt side of his face and he felt the sting and scrape of nails. She managed to slap him twice more before he caught her wrists.

"I see that the little bird has grown herself some claws over the years." He snarled. For some reason her reaction hurt more then he cared to admit. "Why so upset? Had you hoped that I had died?"  
>He laughed, a hollow laugh, full of bitterness and resentment.<p>

"You are too late!" She suddenly cried. "Too late, too late, too late..."

Then, unexpectedly, she reached up and kissed him on the mouth. Her pink, perfect lips pressed hard against his own scarred ones and for a moment the world stopped. He let go of her wrist, his hands trailing to her delicate shoulders. He wanted to ravish her, to push her up against a wall or throw her down on the bed but he restrained himself. She had been crying...why?

'_Too late..._'

'_Too late for what?_'

As much as he loved the feel of her soft, full lips against his own and as much as he was loath to end the wondrous moment he had to know what she'd meant when she said that he was too late. He withdrew and watched her now quivering bottom lip, big blue eyes and the tears that still ran down her cheeks.

"What did you mean?" he tried to make his voice sound gentle but it came out harsh anyway. "What am I too late for?"

'_And why did you kiss me?_'

She bit her bottom lip and looked away, embarrassment and perhaps shame evident on her red cheeks. Her shoulders slumped and she looked defeated. Beaten. "I want too... could you take me away from here? You said you could the last time... that you would p-protect me..." her voice broke and she whispered something he couldn't hear.

Even though her wish was something he had never dared to hope for it didn't satisfy him. She had never been a good liar and apparently she was no good with half truths either. He put his thumb under her chin and forced her to look at him. Her expression grew pained but she didn't struggle. Someone had hurt her, and hurt her badly. He looked for bruises but couldn't find any but that didn't necessary mean anything.

"Who hurt you?" he growled. She blanched and he knew that he was spot on. Cold rage filled him. "Little bird, you will tell me who hurt you and how." She started to struggle now but he had foreseen that and held her firmly with his free hand. "Tell me!" He shook her a little and she cried even more violently then before.

"He f-forced m-me! she sobbed. "I didn't want to but he said that he w-would send me back. That I should b-be grateful... please, I didn't want to. He m-made me."

"Who made you do what?" he asked and saw how her eyes grew dark with fear and shame.

"Littlefinger", she sobbed.

_'No...'_

"What did he force you to do?" he growled.

"P-please, don't make me say it, it's t-to shameful."

"You will tell me, little bird, and then I will kill him", he promised. Her eyes flicked across his face, almost as if she was searching for something. She was reaching, begging for help and he could only pray he could give it to her.

"He... he p-put it in my mouth", her voice was barley above a whisper. "Seven help me he put it there and m-made me suck it... I did not want to. I told him. Please. Don't think lowly of me. I did not want to-"

"That's enough. He rasped quietly and his voice shook with rage. He would have gladly killed anyone who'd dared to touch her the wrong way and Littlefinger had not only touched her the wrong way, he had forced Sandor's little bird to suck his wretched dick.

'_I will feed it to him_', he thought grimly.

"Get your things." he said through clenched teeth. "You will show me where he has his chambers."


	5. Part five

**Part 5**

He held her delicate hand in his much larger and coarser one. The other was wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword. Sandor tried to keep calm but the rage he felt threatened to overwhelm him. Pictures of what he would do to the lord protector only flamed the blood lust engulfing him. He needed to run the tip of his sword through the slimy bastard's gut and wriggle it around a bit to quench it. Sansa followed him quietly, meekly. She had dressed in warm clothes on his orders and brought what little of value she owned. From time to time he could hear how she choked back her sobs.

_'Damn it all,'_ he thought. _'I will kill Littlefinger for hurting her. Fuck the risks.'_

If he had been calm enough to think things through the most logical -and safest- thing to do would be to leave the castle as quietly as possible. But Sandor couldn't let this go. Sansa Stark was his now. She had come to him willingly and pleaded with him for help. On what little honour he had he would kill every man that dared to presume that they could defile his little bird. He glanced over his shoulder and saw how firmly set her face was. With a twist in his gut, he also saw fear there, and shame. Sandor growled. He had seen women that had been raped before; hell, if he was honest with himself he had forced a few to do things they did not want to do. It was an admittedly despicable war tactic, one that made him feel shamed if he thought on it too long. Sandor grimaced. He was no saint; he was guilty of so many sins that it was no use in counting them and Littlefinger hadn't even bruised Sansa's fair skin. Sansa made a strangled sound as she swallowed a sob and Sandor fixed his stare at the opposite wall as he clenched his jaws. What Littlefinger had done was betray her trust and manipulate her to obey him. The wretched bastard had made his shame hers and she probably blamed herself. It was disgusting.

They reached another landing and he paused for a moment. "Did you say he had his quarters two floors under yours?"

She nodded mutely, her eyes cast on the floor.

"Good." he muttered. "Then we're almost there. Do you know if he keeps guards outside his door during the night?"

She shook her head and bit her lip. "Can't we just leave?" she whispered. "I just want to leave."

"Piss on that. I will not rest until he is dead little bird." he growled. "He stole something that didn't belong to him and I will not allow that to slip. Both he and that damn dwarf are dead men."

"But Tyrion didn't-" she blushed deep crimson and stared down at her feet. "We never- I'm still a maiden."

He caught himself before he said something stupid, instead retraining his focus on the task at hand. "We need to be quiet. If there are guards I will deal with them and I only need you to stay out of my way and be silent."

"Do you need to kill them?" she whispered and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"If need be", he answered shortly. "Now come along."

She followed him downstairs and to his disappointment Littlefinger had not one but two guards positioned outside his chamber door. Sandor cursed under his breath. There were no use in trying to sneak up on them. The only thing to do was to act quickly. He took a deep breath, motioned for Sansa to remain where she was, and stepped out from behind the corner.

"Who goes there?" demanded the first guard. They were both young but Sandor did not doubt that they had some skill. Littlefinger was, after all, a very cautious man. "What are you doing in these parts of the castle brother?"

Sandor held up his hands in surrender even though his imposing figure probably made them wary nonetheless. "Nothing to worry about," he muttered. "I'm lost, that's all."

"How did you get up here?"

"I was looking for the lord protector" he said and edged closer, still holding his hands in the air. They were still too far away for him to act. "I've heard that he wishes to confess his sins."

"That's ridiculous, do you know how late it is? The lord protector won't be disturbed!"

"Then I suggest that you try not to shout," he growled. Soon he would be close enough to take care of them. Only ten more steps.

Eight.

Six.

"Return to your own room brother, you shouldn't be wandering around the castle like this. It looks suspicious."

Five.

Three.

"What are you doing?" the young man sounded alarmed now.

Two.

One.

"Is that a sword?"

Sandor couldn't keep from grinning excitingly. It had been so long since he had been in a proper fight. "Little boys shouldn't sound so high and mighty you know," he growled and before the imbecile had the time to react he smashed his fist into his face and drew his sword. The other guard hardly had the time to scream before Sandor slammed the hilt of his sword into his gut. The guard knelt over in pain and Sandor dashed his head against the wall. He fell unconscious to the floor. The guard who Sandor had hit first had drawn his sword, blood flowing from his mouth and nose.

"I wouldn't do that, boy." he said warningly. "Surrender and I might let you live."

The guard spat at his feet and lifted his sword. "Have it your way then." Sandor grabbed hold of the guard's sword-hand, drew him close and twisted the arm until it broke while he tried to muffle the guard's cry of pain with his free hand. The young man's eyes were filled with pain and fear when Sandor released his broken arm. The sword clattered to the floor.

"Sweet dreams. If you're lucky you might be able to use that arm again." He slammed his forehead into the young man's nose and he heard how the sensitive and already broken area crunched. The man slumped to the floor unconscious. Sandor wiped a hand over his face. It came away wet with blood – the guard's blood.

"You can come out now little bird."

She came around the corner tentatively, her face the color of whey. "Are they dead?" she asked carefully as she came up to his side.

"No, they'll live."

Her eyes flicked up at him. "Thank you."

He was about to reply that he didn't do it for her but settled for a nod instead. He grabbed hold of the door handle and threw the door open. Almost immediately he staggered backwards, a white hot pain searing through his shoulder. He was almost able to bite back a pained cry. He heard Sansa gasp in shock. A crossbow quarrel was deeply buried in his right shoulder. A second arrow whistled past his right ear and Sandor cursed quietly.

"That was a good shot, Littlefinger", he growled. "I can't say that I'm surprised that a crossbow would be your chosen weapon. You were always too little a man to lift a sword. I heard an entertaining story about you and one of the Starks once. Being spared in a duel must have been quite shameful."

"Is that Sandor Clegane's beautiful voice I hear?" Came the reply from within the room. "That's quite unexpected. I thought you met your end at the tip of a freak-woman's blade."

"You shouldn't trust every rumour you hear."

"What are you doing here?" Littlefinger demanded. "I can't imagine that I've ever wronged you."

Sandor's gaze went red. The only thing keeping him from charging into the room was the fact that a crossbow arrow in the gut or the head would kill him and leave Sansa to Littlefinger's peculiar brand of mercy.

"Ser Sandor?"

Sandor cursed again when he heard her gentle voice at his side.

"And why, I think that is the voice of my dear sweet daughter Alayne." said Littlefinger. "Now that's unexpected, why would you bring her? Do you suppose you could sell her to the Lannisters? That's cruel, even for you, Clegane."

"Piss on the Lannister's." he said and took a few steps forward. He could feel his blood trickling warmly down his shoulder.

"Ah, ah, don't do that, the next one won't miss."

Sandor glared into the darkness of Littlefinger's room. If only he could see the bastard...

"I don't think that you'll kill me until you know why I'm here." Even Sandor didn't know if he was gambling or stalling.

Littlefinger appeared before him, slipping out of the shadows and standing a few feet away. His crossbow was still raised and aimed directly at Sandor's heart. Sandor didn't like the glint in the other man's eyes. He was much too dangerous; not because he was a good fighter but because he was much too clever.

"Well, I suppose you might enlighten me about that if I put one of these arrows in your gut if only to put you out of your misery."

"I won't let you do that!" Sansa's voice cut the darkness. Sandor felt the gentle, brief pressure of her hand on his forearm.

"Well, well. That was unexpected." Littlefinger's smile was razor sharp and didn't quite reach his calculating eyes. "I was under the impression that this monster-" he gestured toward Sandor, "frightened you back in King's Landing."

Sansa bit her lip and Sandor growled.

"Why, listen to him, he even growls like a dog." Littlefinger smirked. "But I must say from where I'm standing it looks like the beast carries a torch for the beauty. How... _sweet_."

"I'm going to take my good time killing you Littlefinger." Sandor promised. "One of those arrows won't stop me."

"This is disturbing." Littlefinger shook his head, oozing mock regret. "Might it be that my dearest daughter let our little secret slip? How she took my cock in her mouth like a common whore all the while begging me to fuck her hard against the stone wall?"

"You forced me!" Sansa protested and Sandor could hear how her voice trembled.

"What I did to you is nothing compared what this man is capable of my dear. Don't confuse him with the knights in your songs and stories. He is a dog and a monster, born out of blood and war." Littlefinger's face had grown thunderous. "And I think that _ser_ Clegane is quite jealous of me at the moment. I would bet my fortune that given half the opportunity he would steal your maidenhead and then dispose of you. You're nothing to him more than a pretty face and an untouched cunt."

"I'm no ser." He snarled and threw himself forward. Littlefinger discharged his crossbow and the arrow scraped Sandor's left side. A little to the right and it would've hit him square in the gut. His right hand closed around Littlefinger's throat and he used his left hand to swat the crossbow away. With a snarling laugh he lifted the lord protector of his feet and dragged him into the room. "Come with me little bird. I want you to see this" he growled. "Close the door behind you. I don't want to be disturbed."

Littlefinger struggled in his grip while trying to breathe. Sandor smiled a feral smile at the little man. He took hold of the man's beautiful shirt and tore it off, leaving only tatters. He shoved the fabric into the struggling man's mouth.

"I can't have you screaming." he whispered. "You see, when I'm done with you there will be nothing recognizable left." The other man stared at him with eyes wide open with fear and he continued. "I suppose you know what the punishment for rape is?" Littlefinger nodded and made a gagging sound. "Now, I see that you've got a perfect knife in your belt here. That makes things so much easier since it would have been a bother to cut off your cock with a sword."

Sandor drew Littlefinger's knife and used it to cut through the other man's belt and then his fine trousers. Sandor heard how Sansa made a strangely strangled noise while the man he just undressed started to thrash around wildly in his grip.

"Don't close your eyes, little bird", he growled, keeping his cold gray gaze on Littlefinger's face. "This is what will happen to any man that touches you."

He placed the knife's sharp edge at the now shrunken manhood and gave the terrified man a smile before making a clean cut right through the sensitive body part. He felt Littlefinger's hot blood course out over his fingers, heard his muffled, choked screams. Littlefinger made a harsh, gurgling sound and went limp in Sandor's grasp.


	6. Part six

**Part 6**

_Petyr Baelish was smiling with dead eyes. His lips were flecked with blood and his nose broken and a few teeth were missing. His dying breath had been a hoarse one, faintly gurgling and his last words had been whispered with malice._

_"You…you will r-regret this..." he had griped Sandor's shoulder and smiled as the knife cut a ribbon of red from his chest to his maimed neither regions. "S-she's mine! My Cate..."_

_Then he was dead. Sansa had whimpered and Sandor had actually laughed, a sound that was almost as terrifying as the gruesome scene before him. He had turned toward her and she could see the number of men he had killed in his eyes. She had bitten her lip and cried._

It was cold. Someone shook her gently and her eyes blinked open. The dream was still so fresh in her memory that she screamed when she saw the huge, black shadow that loomed over her. The shadow put a large hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. Sansa panicked and started thrashing around violently, beating her captor with both punches and kicks. It didn't seem to affect the shadow at all.  
>"Seven hells woman!" snarled the shadow and used his other hand to pin her hands over her head. "Be quiet!"<p>

She slowly stopped her onslaught and breathed a few deep breaths through her nose. Reality caught up with her slowly. Petyr Baelish was dead, slaughtered by the man leaning over her. They had managed to escape on a stolen horse and Sandor's black beast. Through deep snow and threatening woods they had ridden without stopping for a whole night and a whole day. The horses were exhausted and Sansa was both tired and terribly cold but Sandor seemed determined to push them all to their limits. Sansa blinked and realized she was on the ground. She had no memory of them stopping.

"Are you going to be quiet now?" She nodded feebly and he removed both the hand covering her mouth and the one that pinned her to the ground. "Bad dream?"

"Yes", she whispered, painfully aware of how pitiful and weak her voice sounded.

Sansa noticed a small fire burning nearby and realized that they still were outside and that night was upon them. The sky was clear and both the moon and the stars shone down on the frozen earth. He gave her a scrutinizing look and then backed away, sitting by the fire on a large, dead tree branch.

"You should try to sleep some more." he muttered. "We'll have to leave at dawn."

She looked at him where he sat, all imposing power and toughness but the fire told her things he didn't want to admit. He had dark circles under his eyes from loss of sleep and he was pale. Sansa remembered with cold dread that he had been shot by Petyr's crossbow back at the castle.

"Will you let me look at your wound?" she asked and tried not to sound too frightened.

He stared at her sharply. His eyes was the color of cold steel and she realized with a start that they were…well, 'pretty' wasn't quite the right word. She was sure he would scoff if he heard her thoughts. _'Nice.'_ She thought. His eyes were nice. Then he started laughing. The sound was as disturbing as ever and Sansa flinched a bit. Had she said anything funny?

"Do you know anything about healing little bird? Are you a maester perhaps?"

His harsh words cut like a knife. Sansa had almost forgotten how terrible rude and mean he could be. She clenched her teeth and stared down at her hands. The first reply that came into her head was a feeble 'no' but for some reason she wanted him to respect her. If he succeeded to scare her into silence with only harsh words then she could never hope for his respect. She swallowed hard and looked back up again. His grey eyes were watching her and she squared her shoulder in what must have looked like a ridiculous show of pretend bravery.

"I'm not a master," she said and got to her feet. "and neither am I brave. I'm just a silly little bird after all. But I do know that wounds like that could kill." She was almost by his side now, his eyes betrayed no emotion but when she put a hand on his shoulder she could feel how he tensed. "And I don't want you to die. I don't want to be alone anymore."

A tremor passed through his body. To her surprise he lowered his gaze. "Do as you wish then." He lifted of his cowl, opened his tunic and shrugged it off his right shoulder. Sansa noticed how the tunic was drenched in blood and that the arrowhead still was embedded in his skin. She swallowed but couldn't back down now.

"You'll be needing this." he said and handed her the knife he had used to cut Petyr to pieces with. His voice was tight and he did not look at her.

"Do you have any wine?" she asked and tried to keep her own voice from shaking.

"Not for two years."

She nodded. "I will have to close the wound somehow. I think I've got a needle somewhere-"  
>He took a burning stick from the fire and handed it to her without a word. She could sense the fear in him. He hated the fire and probably knew more than anyone else on earth how terribly painful it was to be burned. She hesitated. Perhaps she couldn't do this after all.<p>

"Get on with it", he growled as he removed the rope around his waist and put it between his teeth.  
>She took a deep breath and started to work out the arrowhead from his shoulder. Warm blood spilled over her hands and drenched her sleeves. He snarled and grunted with pain but not once did he scream. When she had succeeded in removing the arrowhead he was two shades whiter and breathing heavily. She tossed the horrible piece of iron to the ground that by now was flecked with blood.<p>

"I'm sorry", she said and raised the glowing stick. He gave her an unreadable look and then bit down hard on the rope. "It's all my fault you got shot. If you hadn't come for me-"

He caught her shaking hand with his left one and pushed the glowing tip into the wound. It hissed and Sansa caught the horrid stench of burning flesh in her nostrils. Sandor's eyes went wide with pain and then squeezed shut. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, and only then she could allow herself to cry. She finished the grisly, tore the hem of her cloak and used it to bandage his wound. Then she fetched the blanket that she had slept under and placed it over him. His eyes were closed and the fire illuminated the ruin that was the right side of his face. She looked at it and tried to remember why she had been so repulsed by it before. It was terribly ugly to be sure but it wasn't the face of a monster; rather a scar caused by a monster. What pain it must have caused him in his life, from the moment it was inflicted. She looked at his unburned side and saw to her great sorrow that he could have been handsome with his sharp features, dark hair and steel grey eyes. She brushed a stray strand of hair from his face and admitted to herself that there was more to him than his face. The muscle he had revealed when he had opened his tunic proved that he had no spare fat on his body, only hard muscle. A warrior's body.

_'Born out of blood and war...'_

* * *

><p>Someone dabbed his forehead. His right shoulder hurt like hell. Sandor hissed and opened his eyes. It was snowing again and it was long past dawn. He cursed loudly and sat up, almost knocking his head into Sansa's who had been kneeling over him.<p>

"Why didn't you wake me?" he snarled and she stumbled backward with a terrified look upon her face.

"You needed rest." she whimpered, her back against a tree.

He looked around their camp wildly. How much time did they have until their pursuers were upon them? He looked up at the bleak sun that was barely visible behind the grey clouds. It must be past midday already.

"Get yourself ready, we need to leave at once."

"But I've made breakfast..."

He stared from her to the pot with porridge over the fire, his mouth slightly agape with disbelief.

"You need to regain your strength." she said and bit her lip. "You lost so much blood yesterday."

Sandor's shoulder throbbed painfully. His patience was running thin. "Are you stupid?" He asked and noticed how she cringed at his harsh words. "It's not hard to follow the kind of trail that we've left. It didn't snow much yesterday so if they sent out riders after us they might catch up to us at any moment now."

"I'm sorry." she whispered and to his horror, her eyes started to well with tears. "I just thought you needed to rest."

"Fucking hell." he muttered and kicked the nearby branch. _'And with her gods-be-damned crying on top of it.'_ He rubbed his left hand over his eyes and ignored how even that motion made his right shoulder ache. "Alright, let's eat the damned porridge but then we must be off."

She stared at him with those blue eyes of hers. Damn her for affecting him in this way. Damn her for her kindness and damn her for making him wanting to kiss her senseless when he knew that neither of them were in any condition to do that. He sat down on the branch and accepted the bowl with porridge that she handed him with a grunt. She sat down carefully by his side and they ate in silence. He wondered if he should thank her for taking the arrowhead out or standing guard over him when he was blissfully asleep. Perhaps he ought to ask her forgiveness for yelling at her but both the 'thank you' and the 'sorry' stuck in his throat and he turned his attention toward the bowl of porridge in his hand.

"Let's get going." he said finally when they had finished their breakfast. "I'm in no condition to fight off pursuers right now."

They readied their horses and Sandor helped her up in the saddle. She still hadn't said anything since he had yelled at her. He got up in his own saddle and kicked Stranger's sides. The black destrier snorted and started moving forward through the snow. He noted from the corner of his eye how Sansa had some problems with her stolen brown palfrey before she got it to follow.

"You never liked riding, did you little bird?" he asked. "I seem to remembering you preferring to stay in the queen's wagon when we travelled to King's Landing."

"I'm sorry." was her only reply. She said it so quietly he could barely hear it.

_'Seven hells.'_ he thought and slowed down so they came side by side. He took her reins and forced them both to a halt.

"Stop saying you're sorry for everything." he snarled. "If you're no good at riding you practice until you are. If I'm an ass to you, you punch me in the face, do you understand? Don't let people push you around or they'll never stop."

She stared at him wordlessly and he snorted. "Now let's get going."


	7. Part seven

**Part seven**

The wolves had started following them when the wind had picked up. Drawn by the smell of blood and horses they grew bolder and bolder. Sansa had seen the grey and shaggy predators as they passed by the trees. She could tell by their howls that they were about twelve in number. Sansa wasn't afraid of the wolves; she had after all had a direwolf companion once, but her horse was very nervous and the closer the wolves got to them the harder the palfrey was to handle. Sandor's horse, Stranger, on the other hand didn't show any signs of fear at all. He seemed to trust his rider. She stole a sideways glance of them both, struggling through the deep, slushy snow. Sandor had donned his armor instead of the grey robes of the faith. She found herself wondering why he had donned a brother's robe at all; he did not seem like the type to turn religious.

It started snowing again. The snowflakes was heavy and wet and Sansa shivered. The damp crept underneath her cloak and she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and some fresh clothes but she did not dare to voice that need to Sandor. He would only scorn her for her weakness and she did not want to appear weak to him.

"Did I mention that your sister is alive?" he asked suddenly.

He may as well have punched her in the stomach. "Arya is alive?" she whispered.

"The last time I saw her at least." he said. "She was, in fact, much too healthy for my liking."

"Take me to her, please Ser, you must take me to her!" she said and heard the desperate excitement in her voice.

"Don't call me 'ser'. I've told you a thousand times before, I'm no ser." he said with contempt. "And I can't take you to your sister because I don't know where she went after leaving me to die in the riverlands two years ago. She wanted to go to Saltpans but I don't know if she ever got there."

"She left you to die?" Sansa asked with disbelief.

"Don't you know your own sister little bird?" he asked and laughed harshly. "She one is more wild than tame, a real wolf bitch. It might be that you took all the courtesy and left none for her."

"But she might be alive?" she whispered as they reached a creek that almost had frozen over. Here and there black water was visible through holes in the thin ice. She looked at him as he got off Stranger and picked up a nearby stick to see if the water was shallow enough to ride through. "We must find her."

"We?" he asked questioningly as he swung his leg over the saddle. He kicked Stranger's sides and the black horse moved into the creek cautiously. The ice broke under him and the horse snorted nervously but made it to the other side without getting his rider wet.

Sansa felt as if someone had hit her in the face. Would he leave her if she went looking for Arya? Sandor turned his horse around and looked at her. She felt tears in her eyes but tried not to let them show. Several days of hard riding and meager food had made her weary and left longing for a warm bath, a decent hot meal and a change of clothing but she had tried not to complain or appear weak in front of him. She had endured his temper, his silence and borne his violent outbursts but it seemed like it wasn't enough. Apparently he wanted to get rid of her. That knowledge hurt her worse than his angry snarls and scathing remarks. She turned her horse around and jabbed her heels into the palfrey's flanks, riding blindly back the way they had come. She heard Sandor calling her name and cursing loudly but she didn't slow down. She spurred the palfrey harder and the horse took off in an heedless gallop through the woods. Sansa dashed her hand across her cheeks, wiping away tears. His voice faded in the background. Stranger was a tough horse but not one made for speed and he carried Sandor's heavy bulk, armour and most of their equipment and food. She could out-ride him if she wanted to.

The woods closed in around her and seemed to grow darker. The snow had turned into sleet. It hit her in the face, stinging her eyes as she plunged through the thick forest. Suddenly she heard them. At first it was just one wolf howling but soon others joined in. The palfrey neighed with panic and tossed her head. Sansa realized she couldn't control her and when the horse started galloping in panic she couldn't stop it. All she could do was to hold on for dear life and pray she wasn't thrown off. A shadow appeared to their left and another one to their right. The wolves had caught up to them. They snapped at the horse's legs and the palfrey screamed with panic. It rose on its hind legs before charging away in another direction. Sansa prayed to the seven and tried everything she could think of to make the horse stop. They plunged through a creek, jumped over a huge blackberry bush and continued heedlessly over a small hill until they came to an abrupt halt in front of a steep mountain face. The horse wheeled around but found her escape route blocked by not two, but six wolves.

_'They've trapped us here'_, Sansa thought and watched the wolves closed in on them. The horse backed up as far as it could against the mountain wall but could get no further.

_'I have fight.'_ She thought wildly.

She managed to get of the panicked horse and found herself facing the wolves. They seemed much bigger on the ground then they had from the horseback. _'Still not as big as Lady...or as kind.' _Their eyes were yellow and hungry; she noted that some of them looked starved. She looked around for something to use as weapon; her eyes fell upon a large branch only a few feet away. Careful not to lose eye contact with the predators she bent down and griped the cool and slightly damp wood.

"Get back!" she shouted and swung the branch at the wolves. They growled at her but made no move to attack. "Go away!"

One of the larger wolves leapt forward and snapped at her. She succeeded to hit him on the snout with the branch and he backed away again with a snarl. Sansa felt how her heart beat hard against her chest; if all of them jumped her at once she wouldn't stand a chance. The bitter taste of fear rose in her mouth when she realized that this could be the end.

"Get back!" she shrieked.

One of the wolves caught her branch between his teeth and with surprising strength he tore it from her hands with a deep growl. The force of it pulled her off her feet and she struggled to push herself to her knees.

_'This is it...'_

She closed her eyes and prepared for the sharp teeth that would rip her throat open at any moment. Then she heard it: the sound of a heavy horse that came charging through the woods. She opened one eye and saw Sandor galloping toward them. The wolves had noticed him too, and scattered before Stranger's hooves. He reined in his horse and stopped a few feet away from her. Looking up on him from where she stood on the ground he seemed like a giant. His face was thunderous and his lips pressed together in a stiff grimace. She wanted to say something but the words stuck in her throat. He had her pinned to the spot with his stare and the anger he emitted frightened her as much, if not more, than the wolves had. He leapt off his horse and stood facing her. She tried to meet his gaze and to hide her trembling. He looked as if he wanted to hit her.

"What in seven hells do you think you're doing?" He roared at her and she cringed at the anger in his voice. "Do you have a death wish?" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly.

"Let me go," she sobbed. "Don't hurt me, please!"

He stopped then and looked away, breathing heavily through the nose. "Don't ever do that again, understood?" She nodded numbly, suddenly aware of how close he was. He loomed over her like a wall of solid muscle. "Fucking hell, what in the world possessed you?"

He released her with a growl and turned toward her still-terrified horse. With soft words and gentle caresses he managed to get the frightened animal to calm down. Sansa watched his back as he worked and realized that she was crying. Why couldn't he treat her with the same kindness?

"I thought you wanted to leave me." She murmured. He stilled his hands but didn't turn around.  
>"I'm sorry I caused you trouble... I just thought..." she swallowed a sob and sniffed. "I need you. I need you so much but I need to find my sister too. Don't you understand? She's the only one left..."<p>

He turned around then and walked over to her. His eyes had softened and for a moment he looked as though he wanted to touch her. "I don't understand you women." he muttered. "When did I ever say that I wanted to leave you? Damn it girl, I took an arrow to my shoulder for your sake and killed Littlefinger for what he did to you. Why on earth would I leave you now over something so silly?"

"But you said-"

"It was a joke. I was joking with you." he said with frustration. "Is this how it's going to be every time you misunderstand me?"

Sansa stared at him with disbelief and then she hit him as hard as she could in the face. It hurt her hand like hell. She must have hit his teeth.

"Damn you." she cried and clutched her throbbing hand. "I'm cold, I'm tired and I'm hungry and you're always mean to me. I just- I want to go home! I want my family back and I don't want to have to see Littlefinger looking at me every time I close my eyes and I-" Her words broke off in a harsh sob.

Sandor was quiet for a long while. "Good one." He wiped away some blood from his bottom lip. "I saw a cave not very far from here. We can make camp there. Both you and I need to rest for a while."  
>He took Sansa's horse by the reins and lead both her and Stranger back the same way they had come. Sansa watched his retreating back with disbelief. "I <em>hate you<em>!" she screamed but followed him nonetheless, still nursing her sore knuckles.

* * *

><p>The fire illuminated her face. The orange light flattered her auburn hair that despite several days of travel fell in beautiful ringlets over her shoulders. Her big blue eyes stared into the fire and her perfect rosy lips were set in a sad, strangely blank smile. Sandor shook his head. Only she could look so perfect in the middle of the gods' country. She hadn't spoken a word to him since they had set up camp. Sandor was torn between the feeling of regret and his own anger. She could have gotten both of them killed. When she had turned her horse and disappeared into the dark forest his heart had almost stopped. In the space where his missing heartbeats should have been he felt betrayed, frightened and raging, burning anger. When he had found her again, it was almost too late. He had not known what to do with himself. He wanted to beat her senseless or kiss her or perhaps both. He had done none of it, thankfully, judging by her reaction.<p>

'_I hate you!_' she had screamed and he had said nothing. What was there to say?

Once again he was left with the feeling that he ought to say or do something but he did not know how to handle sad young women. Hell, he did not know how to handle people, full stop.

_'Damn me'_, he thought. _'What would her bloody mother do at a time like this? What would any mother do at a time like this?'_

His own mother had wrapped her arms around him once upon a time when he was sad, a long, long time ago. She used to kiss his forehead and murmur comforting words in his ears. Sometimes she would sing to him. He clenched his jaws. Not in a million years cold he imagine himself holding Sansa in a similar fashion. He never got that close to women unless he had paid to fuck them or those unmentionable times when he had forced himself on a few.

_'Bloody hell'_, he thought, shifting on the hard ground.

He glanced over at her again where she sat and damn her, were those tears in her eyes again? Mother's mercy, how much could a girl actually cry? Was there no end to it?

_'What on earth can I do to make her stop?_' he thought. _'An animal then, how would I calm down a horse?' _After a minute, the answer came to him.

He got up and walked over to her, feeling incredibly foolish. She looked up at him and those innocent blue eyes almost made him lose his nerve. For half a moment he had forgotten what he had walked over there for. He sat down by her side and put a hand on her back, slowly stroking her from neck to hip. Up and down, up and down with slow strokes that never stayed too long in one place. He could feel the delicate muscles in her back tense at first, and then gradually relax. He also felt the gentle curve of her spine, the warmth emanating from her skin. She gradually relaxed and leaned into his touch, her head eventually resting on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, neither of them speaking. The fire crackled merrily, the horses snorted and the wind howled. There was nothing to disturb them and this strange moment they shared. Sandor drew a deep breath and felt the tension start to melt from his own neck and shoulders Sansa threw her arms around his neck and buried her nose in the rusty and ragged tunic he wore underneath his armour. For a moment he didn't know what to do before he haltingly wrapped his own arms around her small shoulders. He held her tightly as she started to cry with renewed strength, his fingers still travelling up and down her back.

"I will never run away again." she sobbed. "I'm sorry... I don't hate you either."

"Seven hells little bird." he murmured, oddly relieved by her words. "I'm sorry too."

She looked up at him again with those blue eyes that, if anything, had a brighter blue to them despite her weeping. He grimaced when he realized that she wanted him to elaborate. "I'm sorry I yell at you and I'm sorry for what happened today."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and before he knew it she was kissing him again, pressing her soft, full lips against his own. Sandor tensed; he had fucked plenty of women but he could also count on one hand the number who had actually kissed him. After what seemed like an eternity and at the same time she withdrew, her cheeks blazing. Damn, but she was beautiful when she blushed.

An image of himself gently lowering her to the ground and slowly unlacing her dress filtered past his mind and he became painfully aware of how hard he had become. Sansa seemed blissfully unaware of that though, and seemed busy fiddling with a loose thread in his tunic.

_'It would be so easy'_, he thought. _'She's practically asking for it...'_

Sandor felt dizzy; he could have his little bird tonight if he wanted to. All those nights he had dreamed of her naked and aching for him. In his dreams her skin had been perfect, her breasts full and her sex wet. She had wanted him. He had not forced her and she had whispered his name when he entered her.

"Seven save me." he whispered and swallowed hard as he leaned forward, kissing her below the earlobe. The skin there was as soft as he had imagined. She shivered and he ran his tongue over the spot. She tasted a bit salty. He allowed himself to trail a path from his chosen spot further down her neck only to hear her give a small sigh. Her head fell to the side, giving him more access to her smooth, nubile skin. Her hand drifted up across his chest to the curve of his neck, and he half-wondered for a moment if she was holding him there. If she liked it.

"Will you look at me, little bird?" he whispered hoarsely.

She lifted her head and looked straight into his eyes. When had she stopped looking away from his face? He tried kissing her again, this time nibbling at her bottom lip to get a taste of her in his mouth. To his surprise she nibbled back at his scared upper lip and he could hear how she giggled.

_'So damn innocent'_, he thought painfully. What if this was all a game to her?

_Innocent..._

_'Seven bloody hells…'_ he thought and withdrew. She looked at him questioningly with a smile on her lips.

The girl in his arms had been raped only days ago and here he was all ready to fuck her in a cave out in the wilderness. She had kissed him first, to be sure, and did not seem to mind him kissing her but with what little experience she had with these kind of things she probably had no idea of what he wanted to do to her, how badly he wanted to-

_'Damn me, and damn her...'_

He placed a kiss on her forehead, much like his own mother had done and then he released her from his embrace. She was still smiling at him, showing of perfect, white teeth.

"We need to sleep." he muttered.

She nodded and went over to her bedroll. Sandor brought his own out and lay down. To his surprise she dragged her own bedding over to his side and lay down so close that if he rolled over in his sleep their noses would probably touch. He clenched his jaw. What did the little minx think that she was playing at all of a sudden? Was this some kind of test? He glanced over at her peaceful face and the eyes she had already closed.

"We're even now." She mumbled, her face soft with content.

"Even?"

"You've stolen two kisses and I've stolen two." She snuggled close to his side, tucking her head under his chin.

_'Bloody hell.'_ This was getting physically painful for him. And how did she count for crying out loud? He had only kissed her once.


	8. Part eight

This is a re-post of my original story since I finally got a beta-reader. For those of you that have already read this fanfiction up till par seven I recommend you to read it from start to finish once more, my beta has done a marvellously good job and the flow of the story is much better now. Thank you so much MaryAnne, this fanfiction wouldn't be as good without your help.

* * *

**Part eight**

The air was clear and crisp, but not quite cold. Sansa and Sandor had reached the riverlands yesterday and the terrain had slowly transitioned from mountains to soft hills to a gentle countryside. The vegetation had changed as well, from old spruces and pines to birch, asp and oak. It had also stopped snowing. The ground was bare and covered in brown, fallen leafs underneath the grass and moss. Sansa looked up at the pale sun and the lazy white clouds drifting overhead. A blackbird spread its wings and flew from an old oak tree to the ground. It cocked its head , listening to something only it could hear. Its beak darted into the soft moss, tugging a worm out. In the blink of an eye the worm was gone. Sansa smiled, the action feeling foreign and strange. She took a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand with fresh, clean air. Sansa glanced at Sandor, and her smile grew a touch. She straightened in her saddle and, seizing a sudden impulse, started to sing.

_A clouded dream on an earthly night  
>Hangs upon the crescent moon<br>A voiceless song in an ageless light  
>Sings at the coming dawn<em>

She couldn't help but glance at him as she started on the second verse. It was a beautiful song, more so than Florian and Jonquil and even though she didn't dare say it Sansa wanted him to know that she sang this song only for him. After that night in the cave she had butterflies in her tummy every time she looked at him or thought about him or when she touched him.

_Birds in flight are calling there  
>Where the heart moves the stones<br>It's there that my heart is longing for  
>All for the love of you<em>

As the song died on her lips she stole another look at him. He was still so _ugly_. Nothing could change that. His eyes, though... Sansa felt the butterflies strum in her stomach again as she thought about the intensity in his cool grey eyes. And, she admitted, his body was more than pleasant to look at. She grimaced and realized how useless it was to analyze his appearance like this. When she had been younger all that ever mattered to her were how things looked. In her songs and stories the knights was handsome, the ladies beautiful. An ugly person couldn't possibly be anything but uncouth and rude while a fair person had to be charming and pleasant. Sansa smiled ruefully to herself. Joffrey had been handsome, beautiful even with his golden hair and green eyes, but he had been ugly as death inside. Petyr had also been handsome from a certain point of view; meticulously stylish with grey-green eyes and that dark, graying hair which he always had kept tidy. She glanced at the Hound again and this time he looked back at her, hard grey eyes meeting hers and holding her gaze. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away quickly. How utterly foolish she had been and how hopelessly naïve. How many times had he told her that himself? How he must have despised her back when they first met, silly little bird that she was. She had believed that she was about to live the fairytale she always dreamed of. Instead she had fallen straight into Hell and had killed her entire family.

She had learned her lesson the hard way. Beautiful people could be ugly and ugly people could be... she stole another look at him… well, if not beautiful then at least fierce, faithful and honest. She touched the spot below the earlobe that he had kissed and felt the butterflies in her stomach again. Her cheeks blazed when she realized she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him badly, desperately, and in a very unladylike manner. She wanted him to wrap his strong arms around her and kiss her passionately, to run his large hands over her most secret places, unlace her dress and...

'_What am I thinking?_' she thought , horrified by her own unbefitting thoughts. '_Those things shouldn't happen unless between husband and wife. It's sinful. Real ladies shouldn't yearn for that. Even kisses are unseemly unless they happen between spouses and perhaps betrotheds_.'

Suddenly she felt miserable. '_Perhaps he thinks I behaved improperly too?_' He had pretended like nothing happened the morning after and had made no move to kiss her again. It actually felt like he avoided her despite the fact that they slept so close every night. He had made an effort to be less sarcastic with her, she noticed, but he still seemed worlds away.

They crossed a small stream and Sansa caught a glimpse of herself in the water and couldn't help but gasp in horror. Her hair was a tangled mess, the color a hideous shade between red and brown. She was so dirty. Her dress was both stained and torn as was her cloak. _'I look dreadful._' She thought. '_Is that why he's avoiding me?_ _Wait, no. He doesn't care about that sort of things_', she told herself firmly, forcing her stomach to stop twisting. '_And he doesn't care about what is proper either._'

But why hadn't he kissed her again?

'_Is he waiting for me to kiss him?_' she thought and blushed. '_Should I tell him I want more than kisses?_'

He is a man grown, she told herself. He won't be satisfied by kisses alone. But she felt dreadfully uncomfortable only thinking about initiating anything beyond innocent touches and kisses. She had no idea how to please a man, no experience except… her mouth went dry when she thought about how Littlefinger's member had felt as he forced it into her mouth and down her throat. Suddenly she felt queasy. Would Sandor expect her to do that kind of thing for him? The humiliation would be too much for her. Would he sound the same way that Littlefinger had, grunt the same way, tunnel his fingers through her hair? Would he taste as salty? He would probably be bigger. Romantic kisses aside, did she really want to take things further?

Suddenly he reined up. Sansa gave herself a stern shake to bring her back to the present. They had reached the end of the forest. Before them ran a road that curved over a couple of hills in a south-easterly direction. To the north, it turned back towards the forest.

"This road leads to the Bloody gate in that direction", Sandor pointed into the forest. "And in the other it leads to Lord Harroway's town."

"Will we follow it there?"

"I thought we should follow it for a while, might be that we come upon a village that isn't abandoned after the war. I don't know about you, but I need a bath and a change of clothes."

She smiled and thought about how wonderful it would be with a hot bath and to be able to sleep in a bed for once. "I would like that very much."

"I thought so", he said and turned his gaze toward the road. "But I don't want us to go all the way to Harroway's town. We'll go east instead."

"Why east?"

"You wanted to find your sister, didn't you? The Saltpans lies to the east."

Sansa felt her heart quicken. "Do you think that we'll find her there?"

"I hope not, little bird." He murmured and turned his serious eyes to her. "If we do it'll be her grave. Haven't you heard that Saltpans was sacked after the war? If your sister was still in Saltpans when the bandits came she is probably dead."

Sansa had heard about the sacking of The Saltpans. Rumor had it that it was the Hound himself that had done it. She did not dare to ask him whether or not the stories were true. He would be honest with her if she asked and she dreaded the answer. He had told her once that killing was the sweetest thing he knew but he couldn't have done such an awful thing, could he?

"I know what you're thinking" Sandor looked at her, his grey eyes had turned hard and his mouth twisted in that terrible mockery of a smile he used when he was angry. "You want to know if I did it. If I could've killed your baby sister." he said, his voice cold and harsh as the deepest winter night. "I can put your fears to rest, that's one crime I did not commit."

"I never thought..."

"Spare me." he rasped and pressed his heels into Stranger's flanks. The huge stallion snarled and took off down the road.

Sansa felt how she blushed, both with shame and anger. Of course he hadn't done something that terrible, but could he really blame her for wondering? After all, every rumor usually had some truth to it. She followed him on her stolen horse and felt how the beautiful day had turned gloomy. Why was he suddenly so angry with her? Her heart sank; perhaps he regretted their kiss and this was his way of telling her?

'_Silly little bird._' she thought and her lip quivered. '_He's probably had other women far more experienced than me._'

The road held the promise of a dull ride and Sansa knew she would spend the rest of the day wondering what she had done wrong.

* * *

They didn't reach a village that day or the next, but as the sun edged towards the west on the third day they reached a small cluster of houses that was surrounded by farmland and birch forest. The village, if it could be called that, consisted of a small sept, five town houses, a square with a well in the middle and an inn with a stable. Some of the houses looked as if they had been burned and then restored; even the sept looked like it had been put to the torch and the small stable next to the inn looked new with sawdust still lying on the ground. Sandor gave her a couple of coins and told her to pay for a room, hot water and a warm meal for them both while he saw to the horses. She gave a shrug of her shoulders and went on her way, thankful to be rid of him for a while. He hadn't been intolerable per see, but ever since the incident with the Saltpans discussion she had felt more and more convinced that he found her irritating and it confused her to no end. Why had he even acted the way he had in the cave if he found her company so tiring? He should just have left her with the wolves. The more Sansa thought about it the angrier she got. He had no right to judge her unless... it had something to do with what Littlefinger had done to her. Did he think that she was sullied somehow?

Petyr Baelish appeared in her mind with a mocking smile on his lips. '_Might it be that my dearest daughter let our little secret slip? How she took my cock in her mouth like a common whore, all the while begging me to fuck her hard against the stone wall_?'

'_No!_', she thought, growing cold at the memory of Petyr's hands on her. '_He can't believe that. I would never do that. It wasn't my fault._'

She banished the uneasy thoughts from her mind and opened the door to the tap-room. It smelled like burnt wood, hot food and pipe smoke inside. The innkeeper, two rugged farmers, a hunter and a young man dressed in fine silks gave her curious look as she entered and Sansa felt terribly self conscious in her dirty and torn clothes but she tried to not let it show as she approached the innkeeper.

"I would like a room for the night for me and my..." she thought about how she should present Sandor but settled for the near-truth instead of an elaborate lie."escort."

"Would you like some food as well?" asked the innkeeper.

"Yes please and warm water brought up to our room as well", she said.

"Of course, I will have the water brought up immediately."

By the time their bath was ready she had already found a simple dress on the bottom of her pack that wasn't too dirty and Sandor had come back from the stable.

"You can go first", he said. "I'll wait outside."

Sansa watched as he turned around toward the door and all of a sudden she felt the mad need to get back at him for treating her so coldly. She wanted him to give her some kind of recognition rather than the disinterest he had shown the last couple of days. She wanted to see that lust she had seen in his eyes that night in the cave. "You don't have to go." She said and tried to sound more carefree than she felt.

Her heart leapt to her throat as he froze at the door. He turned around slowly and the look he gave her was that of utter disbelief. Sansa couldn't blame him. Her boldness, false as it may be, felt unnatural and queer to her. She hoped it didn't show. Sansa swallowed hard, her fingers at the laces of her bodice. "Stay." She hoped he didn't see how her hands trembled as she started to tug the strings.

There!

She saw it. The lustful, longing gaze with which he followed her fingers as she worked with the laces.

He wanted her.

She felt almost giddy with victory before his iron mask was back again. "You're better than that." he said and walked through the door.

Sansa stared at the closed door and wished that the earth could swallow her whole. Shame burned on her cheeks as she started to wash herself. She had offered herself to him and he had thrown it back into her face. She filled her cupped hands with hot water and splashed her face, hoping the water would mask the tears she couldn't hold back.

* * *

Sandor breathed heavily through his nose as he scrubbed furiously as the dirt on his neck and shoulders.

'_Damn it to hell and back._' He thought and felt the overwhelming need to hit something or someone. Why did she have to torture him? He had tried to keep his distance from her ever since the cave so that he didn't do something she wasn't ready for, something she might come to regret but the damn girl hadn't made it easy for him. She slept painfully close during the nights and it felt like she was always watching him with those beautiful eyes of hers. '_And now this!_' The image of her slender white fingers slowly unlacing her bodice danced behind his eyes, and he couldn't help but imagine what lay under the bodice.

He used the stolen knife to trim what was left of his beard and hair, his reflection in the copper mirror sneered angrily at him. The burnt corner of his mouth twisted with self-mockery. There was no reason why someone like her would want someone like him and still she insisted on tempting him. Didn't she know what power she had over him? Didn't she know how much he wanted her?

'_She knows_', an evil little voice in his head whispered. '_She's teasing you, and she'll continue until she finds someone better than you and that will happen as soon as she meets another man. It's not hard to look better than you do, just look at your face._' Sandor growled furiously and punched the mirror with all the strength he could muster. All he managed to achieve was a dent in the mirror and a dull ache in his knuckles. The thought of her leaving him for someone else felt like bitter bile in his mouth.

'_I will kill every man that dares to get close to her before I let that happen._' He thought angrily.

Sandor left the room in a terrible mood and went downstairs to the tap-room. He wasn't prepared to find her talking to a young man when he entered the. He felt something deep inside him snap as he watched her. A shy smile played at her lips as she looked at the boy she was sitting with, and he recognized the expression on her suddenly youthful face. It was one he'd seen before, but never aimed at him. His anger roiling, he strode over to the young pair and grabbed hold of her arm roughly. She looked up at him, and his teeth ground together at the fear in them. '_Don't you know by now?'_ He thought. '_Don't you know I'd die before I ever hurt you?'_He pulled her unresisting to her feet and turned toward the young man.

He was nothing special, perhaps a few years older than Sansa. Sandor pinned him with his stare. "If you so much as look at her again I'll chop your balls off. Do you hear me, boy?" he snarled. The young man nodded numbly.

He dragged the girl behind him over to an empty table. She sat down without saying anything and he felt that he somehow had managed to make things even worse between them. The food came and they ate under strained silence. She refused to look at him and a shamed guilt began to build in his gut.

"I'm sorry." he muttered when the silence became too much.

That made her look up. Her blue eyes met his and for the first time she looked angry. "I can't believe you!" she hissed. "You... you can't act like you don't want me one moment and then pretend like you have the right to give a _damn_ who I talk to the next." She rose from her seat, leaving her food almost untouched. "I'm going to go over there and I'm going to have a civil discussion with that boy and you're not going to do _anything_a bout it!"

He watched her turn on her heel, the shame and guilt in him quickly replaced by a white, numb rage. If that was how she wanted to play then she should have chosen her playmates a bit more wisely. The Hound wasn't pleasant when he was angry. His little bird was going to learn that sooner than she expected.

* * *

The song Sansa sings in the beginning belongs to Loreena McKennitt and is called "the mystic's dream"


	9. Part nine

So here it is; part nine. I'm sorry that I've been holding on to it for so long but I haven't started writing part ten yet and I thought that I should spread the parts out a bit for you so that the gaps in between won't be too big.

Um… yeah, about this chapter; It's rated **R** because of sex and language etc. ect. If you aren't comfortable with these kinds of things, please await the next chapter. It won't be as smutty, I think.

Oh, and a few of you have been telling me that Sandor's been behaving childishly and that they argue too much. I do understand what you mean but you also have to keep in mind that both Sandor and Sansa are heavily scared by things that have happened in their earlier life, none of them are good with relationships, least of all Sandor.

And one more thing, I think that I've said it before. Sandor _is not_ a nice person. I won't say that he's using Sansa per say but everything he's done so far is acts of selfishness because he considers her his possession. I know I wouldn't want my daughter to hook up with a person like Sandor even though he probably would die protecting her.

As always I'd like to thank my beta reader MaryAnne, this wouldn't have been possible without you.

Long rant is long, now on with the story!

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><p><strong>Part nine<strong>

The young man's name was Eadred Hunt, Sansa learned. He had walked from Tumbleton with nothing but a few coins and the clothes on his back. He was a storyteller, he said, and claimed that his walk through the war-torn riverlands served as inspiration for an epos he was going to write. Sansa found his company pleasant enough but the whole experience was ruined by Sandor. He lurked in the corner, shrouded in shadows. Sansa could feel the rage radiating from his eyes. Every so often, she'd glance over her shoulder at him, and pointedly turn back to Eadred. She knew it was only making him angrier, but at the same time she didn't care.

"Your escort is very, protective of you my lady." Eadred said and glanced nervously over at Sandor. "You don't think he'd actually do what he said he would do?"

"His bark is worse than his bite." she answered with what she hoped was a carefree tone even though she knew the truth. His bite was every bit as bad as his bark, if not worse. She'd seen it herself.

"Well, that's reassuring." the young man said. "If you don't mind me asking my lady, where are you headed in these dangerous times and with only one guard?"

"I'm traveling to Lord Harroway's town from the Gates of the Moon." She answered. It felt easier to tell a lie that was almost true if she couldn't be completely honest. She couldn't trust the young man even though he didn't look like much of a threat. She may be mad at Sandor, but she wasn't stupid. Telling this boy their plan would almost certainly lead to disaster.

"I just came from Harroway's town." Eadred said. "They've managed to get the flooding under control but it's not really a nice town. I suppose that it's better than this village. At least _they_know how to make a fine brew."

Sansa smiled a little and allowed Eadred to lead the conversation. He told her about the stories he had collected so far about brave knights, bold thieves, hungry wolves and walking corpses. "I might include a beautiful maid with eyes as blue as the sky and auburn hair." he said with eyes that twinkled merrily. "I would name her the mysterious maid with the blue eyes since you haven't told me your name yet, my lady."

"The best stories always has some mystery to them." She said, returning his smile shyly. From the corner of her eye she noted that Sandor had left the tap-room.

"That is true." Eadred agreed merrily. "Tell me my lady, do you mayhap sing? You look like you have a lovely singing voice."

"I sing from time to time," She answered, "but I'm terribly out of practice."

"Nonsense, I'll trade you a story for a song." he said and smiled.

In the end he convinced her to sing Jenny of Oldstones for him, and he told her a sad story about two lovers whose families had been fighting over a piece of land for centuries. Despite their deep love for each other, they had been forced to marry according to their families' wishes. In the end the young man had been killed by his beloved's own brother and she had drowned herself in the Red Fork from grief. The hour had grown very late when Eadred excused himself, saying he had to set out early the next morning.

"I would have walked you to your door my lady but I fear that your ferocious escort would end my sad life in a premature manner." He gave a wink and a playful bow and left the room whistling a merry tune.

Sansa, on the other hand, did not feel merry. She still had to face Sandor and his wrath. The look he had given her when she left him at the table held no promise of forgiveness. She knew it had hurt him when she had chosen Eadred over him. She _knew_he would be angry and that was partly why she had done it. She wanted him to feel as rejected as she did.

'_I hope he's asleep when I get back,_' she thought as the fire burnt down in the hearth. Only when it was completely dark did she creep up the stairs to their room. Her heart hammered as she quietly opened the door. Her legs were starting to feel hollow as her breathing quickened, and she realized how terrified she was. Sansa took a few tentative steps into the room and stopped, listening for the sound of his loud breathing or him tossing around in his sleep but the room was deadly silent. She felt the taste of fear in her mouth, bitter and harsh. Sansa tried to keep her body from trembling. Suddenly she heard movement behind her and whirled around. Sandor seemed to coalesce out of the night, so quickly and silently did he appear. He closed the door behind her and left them both standing in almost complete darkness.

"You sang him a song," he rasped quietly, "and smiled at his silly stories. Did it make you feel good? To have him drooling all over you?" He put a heavy hand on her shoulder and ran it slowly down hear arm, not ungently. At his touch, Sansa thought her heart would leap out of her chest. "You're not a child anymore, when you sing and smile to men these days they start expecting things."

His voice was hoarse and shook with barley restrained anger. She felt his hot breath on the skin below the ear when he leaned forward and buried his nose in her hair. For some reason her fear started to mix with another feeling; excitement. She wanted to reach out and touch him but didn't dare to even move a muscle. His other hand came down around her waist and he drew her toward him, pressing her back into the hard muscle of his chest. Her eyes drifted shut in the dark. His scent rose around her, a strong wave of leather and sweat and something that was just inherently…him.

"Do you think he could protect you against danger for even a second, little bird?" he growled and bit into her neck just below the earlobe. A shiver passed through her body and Sansa couldn't stop a small moan escaping between her lips. "That foolish boy cannot even protect himself."

"You haven't hurt him, have you?" she whispered. That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Sandor growled furiously and lifted her of her feet like she weighed nothing and threw her on the nearby bed. She barely had the time to catch her breath before he had her pinned to the mattress, using only the weight of his own body and one hand to pin her hands above her head.

"I've tried to do the honorable thing." he rasped tightening the grip on her arms a fraction. Sansa felt the bones in her wrists grinding together and realized with a sudden jolt that he could snap them without a second thought. Her breath hitched in her throat and she whimpered. "All this time I've restrained myself even though my hand's been itching to run down your body. Every night when you laid down beside me I've longed to tear of your clothes and devour you. How does that make you feel, little bird? Tell me, does that make me any better than your pretend father Littlefinger or that silly little boy you talked to all night?"

The fear started to drain out of Sansa, leaving her somewhat wearied. She felt like she finally understood why he had been so distant, so angry with her. He was afraid, afraid that she would reject him and afraid that she would leave him. Behind all that anger and resentment he was just as insecure as she was.

"You're nothing like Petyr." she whispered. She shifted her wrists in his grasp so could stroke a patch of skin on his wrist. She wished it was his face. She wished she could bring him comfort. She saw him for a moment when the pale moonlight fell in through the small window. His eyes shone like a wild animals and she saw the sullen anger behind his stormy irises. His mouth was set in a sneer that turned into a mocking smile. The light faded as a cloud passed the moon and he was only a hulking darkness above her once more. "But I am." He sneered. "If you won't give me what I want I'm going to take it by force and you know that you cannot stop me. Do you hear me girl? That little show you gave me earlier was a good one but I won't stop at watching you undress. Is that clear enough for you little bird?"

She smiled then even though she knew that she ought to be afraid. "You won't hurt me." she said softly. "And you can't force me to do something I would have done anyway."

She could hear how he inhaled sharply, the iron grip around her arms loosened somewhat. "I understand now." she said gently.

"Understand what?" His voice was still suspicious.

"I thought you didn't want me. That you regretted what happened." She said. "I've tried to get you to kiss me again for several days. Haven't you noticed?"

"Seven hells girl." he growled. "Of course I've noticed but this isn't about that. I want to _fuck you, _that's how depraved I am. Don't you understand that I've been trying to protect you from myself?"

"And what if I wanted you to f-fuck me, what then?" The word came out haltingly, but once it did Sansa felt a secret thrill warm her belly.

He hissed and then he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her so roughly she feared he would leave bruises. "It's not right little bird." He murmured, suddenly sad. "You deserve a gentle lover, candlelight, sweet wine and someone who can make love to you. I'm no good at that. I've fucked plenty of women," he laughed harshly, "but I've never made love to anyone before."

"Then it's the first time for both of us." She said.

Slowly he released her hands and Sansa could finally reach up and touch his face. She felt something wet trail down his cheeks and she realized that he was crying. His tears brought back memories of another time in another life when she had felt his tears, mixed with blood on the palm of her hand. Unlike that last time she now had the means to soothe his pain. She got up on her elbows and kissed away his tears. Her lips lingered a fraction longer on the scared side of his face and she could feel how he tensed up. She hesitantly pressed her lips to his throat. She felt a shudder run through him.

"I'm not afraid of your scars anymore." she whispered. "I was just a stupid, silly little girl back then. I did not understand."

"You were frightened with good reason."

"Perhaps, but not because of your scars." she answered. "Everyone has scars; some are just more visible than others. I've got a scar; do you want to see it?"

* * *

><p>'<em>I've got a scar.<em>' She whispered against his skin, her breath was soft as silk against his neck. '_Do you want to see it?_'

Sandor felt Sansa shift under him and his mind went blank for a moment. Her weight shifted on the bed as she wiggled out from under him. He could hear how her dress rustled and she grabbed hold of his hands, guiding it to a spot just above her knee. He felt nothing but smooth, warm flesh underneath his fingertips. "When I was five I stumbled and fell in the godswood at Winterfell", she said. "And when I was eight Arya hit me with a stick when we quarreled, it tore my pretties blue dress and left a bleeding mark. I've still got a scar here..." she guided his hand to her collarbone. She laughed softly. "My father beat her for that."

His vision swam before him. This couldn't be true. Things like this didn't happen to him. Beautiful young women like Sansa didn't offer themselves to him and tell him that they wanted him to fuck them. It _did not happen_.

But, miraculously, it had. She was right there, holding his hand against her naked skin, only a fraction of an inch away from her breast. She kissed him again, more insistently this time, and he felt her tongue brush against his lips. Haltingly, he parted his lips and brushed the tip of her tongue with his own. Her small hands traveled up his arms, found his chest and the strings to his tunic and then she started to unlace them.

"Damn it girl", he growled. "Is this really what you want? There is still time to-"

"Sansa." she said.

"What?"

"My name is Sansa."

"Sansa…" He repeated, her name rolling of his tongue like a sweet caress.

She had managed to get her hands inside his tunic and they were now slowly trailing the outline of his chest muscles. '_Damn it all to hell._' he thought. If he did what was right and stopped her from taking things further he would probably go insane. '_She wants this. She wants you_.' He stilled her hands gently and took off his tunic, exposing his heavily scared torso to her touch. She ran her hands down his chest and along his arms, leaving a burning trail on his skin.

'_I hope she won't regret this_', was the last sane thought that crossed his mind before he reached out and started to unlace her bodice.

He took his time undressing her, slowly pulling the laces from her bodice. He slipped the rough fabric of her dress over her shoulders, her delicate collarbone. It was as if he had walked into one of his own dreams and convinced himself that it was the reality. Her body was just as perfect as he had imagined it to be with, round and firm breasts, flat belly, long legs and slender hips. As he trailed his large hands down her body he reflected over the fact that they never trembled this way before a fight or a battle but the perfect, smooth skin underneath his calloused fingertips made him shake like a scared little boy facing the wrath of his father. He wanted to be gentle with her, and he wanted her to enjoy this as much as he did but he had no idea how to pleasure a woman. He usually took them from behind so that he did not have to see the disgust or the fear on their faces and when he was done he left them, with or without money. That was not how he wanted it to go this time but gentleness didn't come naturally to him. His hands were made for killing, not pleasuring women.

"Sandor," she whispered and pressed her lips to his. "Don't be afraid."

To hear her telling him not to be frightened almost made him laugh out loud. "I'm not the maiden here, Sansa." He muttered as she started to fumble with his breeches. Even though he did not want to appease her eagerness he felt obliged to warn her nonetheless. "It…I've heard it will hurt."

"I know." She did not sound frightened but rather stubborn. She looked up at him with surprising frankness in her blue eyes, and he knew she wasn't afraid.

He helped her to release him from the last garment that separated them. Her hands traveled boldly down the length of his manhood trembling only slightly. He allowed her curious fingers to study him for a while even though he ached to be inside her. After a while he guided her hands to his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her once more. He planted kisses on her throat and collarbone before finally taking one of her nipples in his mouth. He flicked it with his tongue, biting lightly. He slid one hand up her slim hips, over her narrow waist, and cupped the other breast. It fit the palm of his hand perfectly, and he took his time, cupping and reshaping it. Sansa's back arched off the bed, and she couldn't stop her pleasured sigh from leaving her lips. Sandor abandoned her breasts and kissed a trail down her stomach, lingering over the perfect cup of her navel. He paused when he reached her sex, not quite sure what to do now. He parted her lower lips with two fingers and found her slightly damp. She sighed again, breathed his name and dug her fingernails into his arms. He felt that he must've done something right so he brushed it against her inner folds and the little nub he found above her entrance. She shuddered again, wrapping her fingers in his hair.

"Sandor…" she whispered desperately.

He captured her lips with his own but without removing his fingers from the obviously sensitive spot he had discovered. He rubbed it tentatively and she gasped against his lips. She felt wetter now, almost as he had imagined her to be in his dreams when he took her. She moaned against their kiss, her fingers tightening. He let his fingers explore her, circling her entrance but not passing it, flicking the delicate nub just above it. She felt like molten silk under his touch. Her breath caught in her chest suddenly, and he felt her entire body begin to tense up. "Please," she whispered, "please don't stop."

His fingers continued to spider over her womanhood, bringing forth small, mewling cries from her red lips. She seized his wrist suddenly, her long, white fingers surprisingly strong. "There." She gasped. "Right there." He caught the now-slippery nub between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently. Sansa bit back a cry, her body beginning to writhe under his touch. He covered her lips with his own, drinking the sounds of her passion and letting her ride out wave after wave of pleasure. Finally, she was spent and limp in his arms. The moon was bright outside, and he could see her as she gazed up at him, smiling and slightly dazed. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a gleam in her eye that hadn't been there before.

"I- I want you inside me." She said softly. "I don't care if it hurts."

'_If I'm going to hell I might as well do it for this._' He thought as he positioned himself between her legs. '_It would be worth it._' After the initial resistance, sliding into her was like being enveloped in exquisite oil. He felt her body stretch to accommodate him. Sandor slid his hand around to the small of her back to hold her hips still as he continued to push inside her.

'_So fucking tight..._'

She whimpered underneath him and he knew it probably hurt.

"I'm sorry my little bird..." He whispered against her ear. Her breath was hot against the side of his neck as she replied.

"Do not be."

With a low growl he pushed himself all the way, as far as he could. Sansa cried out, either in pain or pleasure. She was so bloody tight around him that he thought for a moment that he might faint from pleasure. He tried to move slowly but the ecstasy of the moment almost had him blinded. He slid a hand down her thigh, cupping around the back of it and drawing it up, hooking the slender calf over his hip.

'_Seven hells,_' he felt the orgasm building and tried to ignore it. He did not want to spend himself so soon.

"Sandor," she whimpered, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Bloody hell." he growled. "Sansa..."

He shuddered with raw pleasure and spent himself deep inside her. He slumped forward, only managing to catch himself on his elbows to prevent himself from crushing her. He could hear her uneven breathing and wondered if he had hurt her much. In the quiet that followed, he touched her cheek and found it wet. "I hurt you."

She shook her head, her auburn hair rustling against the pillow. "No." Sansa wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, drawing him close and kissing him. "You didn't hurt me."

He could only kiss her with wonderment. For once his life had taken a considerable turn for the better.


End file.
